


An Equal Partnership

by aiwaguru



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Happy Ending, M/M, Prompt Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:25:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiwaguru/pseuds/aiwaguru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill to <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/16422.html?thread=92942886#t92942886">this prompt</a>:<br/>Sherlock tells John all of his secrets in an attempt to balance out their partnership to ensure it's continuance... and maybe because he kind of wants to make John feel better.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>After a nasty domestic, Sherlock starts leaving John notes and messages about all the things he had never told him. They quickly become personal.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	An Equal Partnership

 

 

 

He always warned Sherlock about watching what he said, but he was no better.

His self-righteous anger failed him as soon as he stormed out of their shared flat, the hurtful words he had just said coming back to him, the cold of the night making him realise just how undeserved they had been. True, Sherlock was an ass, most of the time at least, but he was also more right than wrong. There was something about being straightforward that did directly help people, as much as he did not want to admit it at the moment.

No one wanted to admit it, really. Because it hurt.

Besides, Sherlock couldn't help it, and John was supposed to know that more than anyone else.

He was also an ass then!

What a wonderful couple they were. 

Except they weren't a couple.

He wasn't gay.

And even if he decided to make an exception for Sherlock, just because he was wonderful and perfect for him, he knew for a fact that the detective would never be amenable to it. He tried to stop his thoughts, knowing very well he did not need to add other awkward thoughts to the list of things Sherlock would deduce the hell off him. 

He stopped on the pavement in front of 221b as the door fell shut behind him. He didn't have a jacket, so where did he think he was going? And now it was even difficult to ignore the miserable feeling swimming in his chest.

If he had to be honest, he was always a bit scared Sherlock would regret having him live with him. Considering how independent the detective was, how spiteful of feelings of any sort, he probably hated it when John picked a fight, regardless of the motive.

"Fuck it," he muttered, turning on his heels and diving back inside.

Screw consistency, it was too cold.

 

"I didn't mean that!" He exclaimed once he barged into the living room, before he could change his mind or hesitate. 

What he saw in the seconds before the detective reacted to his voice almost broke his heart. Sherlock sat by the window, his face in his hands, looking thoroughly preoccupied.

He stood up abruptly when he realized John was back, but the doctor had seen it, and he could not forget it.

"I'm sorry, I really didn't mean that," he tried again, more softly, knowing now that he really had to say it.

Sherlock was tight and composed, his hands straightening his jacket, as if trying to hide the position he had been found in. "Of course you meant it, you're far from being a liar... And statistically there's always some truth in those outbursts."

"I don't believe anyone bothered to draw statistics from that, Sherlock," he protested, wondering what kind of mad psychology Sherlock was trying to use there. "It's something I thought before, but that doesn't mean I believe it, you know... One can't really stop odd thoughts, even though they might be completely bonkers..." 

The detective raised an eyebrow. 

"I'm sure you have quite the filter from what you say and what you think, even though you try to make everyone think you don't," he added, hoping he would understand his point.

But there was no reply to that, the detective simply turned towards the window, deep in thoughts the doctor was not privy to.

John grew even more restless at the silence, it was not an usual reaction. Not in the least. "I really am... Sorry I mean. You already know I do like the fact you're smart... It's just that I forget sometimes that you aren't like everyone else..."

Sherlock's shoulders tensed. 

"How could I forget, huh? It's more like I forget I shouldn't apply social standards to you, or any standard really. Actually I don't know what I should apply, I barely know how to talk to you at all. I don't know anything, really." Great, now he was rambling.

It seemed to get a reaction though, Sherlock turned to him, puzzlement on his features: "Are you saying you feel you do not know me?"

John scoffed, right to the point: "I cannot read everything at a glance like you do, or anything at all really... And you don't talk about things, you just deduce them."

A thoughtful hum came from the detective. "I had no idea you felt that way."

John felt a bit exposed, but he could not deny it was part of the truth.

"You do know a lot of things about me though, more than anyone else," Sherlock protested quite hesitantly.

"I do, I know... But not very important things," he shrugged.

Sherlock nodded, a long pause: "I see..." The frown on his brow grew deeper, "What kind of things would you want to know?"

John blinked in surprise, not sure how to take this question at all. "Anything... I don't know..." He wanted to say a lot of things, but he knew it wouldn't be right. "You don't have to tell me anything, you don't have to change your ways for me, intimacy is not something you can force."

Sherlock's eyes sparkled darkly, and he looked away again before he spoke: "There must be something..."

"Hell, I don't know... it's just unfair at times... you probably even know how many times I touch myself," he protested, rubbing his forehead impatiently.

Sherlock seemed surprised. "I do, but that doesn't mean I keep tabs about it... I had no idea you would want to know my habits in regards to masturbation, John."

The doctor felt himself choke: "I don't, it was supposed to be a joke... you really...?"

"So you don't want to know?"

"Yes- I mean- no!" He paused, pouting and willing his cheeks to lose the colour they had so quickly gained. "It's not necessary for me to know those things, that's a bit silly..." He looked up at him, his head tilted a bit to the side. "Unless you want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly," he was quick to say, but John was rather sure the detective was covertly watching him.

There was a long pause, and he started to think the conversation was over. "Okay then..." he muttered nervously. 

"Would you maybe like to know why Mycroft and I don't go along?" was Sherlock's reply, and John almost gaped.

"Bloody hell, yes," he exclaimed with a choked laugh. 

“He used to mistreat me when we were children. Nothing major. I wanted to spend time with the only person who was as smart as me, and he had better things to do… and also I don't think he took the whole drug abuse thing very well. He felt responsible, I took advantage of that, and I would say he felt rather betrayed by my manipulations,” he explained quickly, as if he was ticking off things from a list.

John looked at him, his eyes dark, he was not sure if he could ask, or whether he was supposed to at all. “Did you go to rehabilitation?” he said finally, bracing himself.

“Mycroft… forced me into a few institutions to ensure I’d clean up… not something I'm comfortable to talk about,” he answered honestly, waving his hand as if it meant nothing.

John had not expected they would actually end up talking about something like this, and he fell silent, overwhelmed.

“Good?” asked the detective then, seemingly quite unsure John would not be running out of the room in panic.

The doctor looked up and nodded: “Very good,” he reassured him.

 

~~

 

The messages started the next day. They were either in the form of texts on his mobile or as post-it's attached to whatever John used every day: namely his mug, his armchair and his laptop. It was like Sherlock would jot down memories or comments whenever he thought there was something he should share with John.

At the beginning it was about the people they knew. Most of the things he had noticed already, but some gave him insight on parts of Sherlock he had never imagined. 

 

_I can’t stand Anderson, but not for any particular reason, probably because he can’t stand me_

 

 

_I think Mrs Hudson is the sweetest lady in the world, I wish she was my real mother_

 

 

_Mummy is not very sociable, just like me_

 

 

_She prefers Mycroft_

 

 

_Sometimes I wonder if I took it from her, the inability to care..._

 

 

"Rubbish," exclaimed John when he read the last post-it, glaring at it as if he wanted to delete the insecurity he could read between the lines of Sherlock's handwriting. "You care about me and Mrs Hudson, and don't even try to deny that, there are certain things I just **know**."

Sherlock just smiled imperceptibly, somehow surprised, but the first post-it the next day was on his bedside table and it read: ' _I do_.'

John thought it was a nice way to wake up.

 

 

_Donovan is a proper bitch, I would admire her if she wasn't an hypocrite_  

 

 

_Drug busts make me nervous even when I know I am clean_

 

 

_I like watching Stephen Fry on the telly, even though I complain about it... I hate it when he knows more things than I do._

 

 

_Lestrade is a great man, I often feel I should be friends with him, but sometimes he's such an IDIOT_

 

 

John laughed at that, looking up to see Sherlock covertly watching him, even though he was officially checking his inbox. He would say he was amused by his reaction, but one could never tell with Sherlock.

"What about me? Do you think I'm an hopeless idiot too?" His voice had gone for jokingly, but he felt his heart unsettle in expectation.

Sherlock frowned at that, it seemed it was a complex matter. Maybe he was surprised John didn't know that much or maybe he didn't want to say anything that would probably anger him, or worse, hurt him.

The next message was about Irene, though.

 

_The Woman was sexy, but the interest was quick to fade. Maybe she was too much like me._

 

John looked at the post-it with a frown, he had no idea what to think of it. Was Sherlock avoiding the subject, or did any of that have to do with him? He could not help but feel annoyed though, just mentioning her made him want to throw punches. Odd, considering he had never been a jealous person.

Sherlock did not seem to appreciate his reaction either, because he moved towards him and stole the post-it, throwing it in the bin with no words.

“I wasn’t going to keep it…” John muttered, trying to joke.

The detective just hummed in return.

 

It went downhill from there, the messages were starting to be quite personal. 

 

_I know what people think of me. People talk, but they are rarely right about me._

 

_I may be inexperienced, but I'm not a virgin._

 

_Sometimes I think about the things I could try…_

 

_It **is** a big deal for me…_

 

John fisted the message, feeling his head swim a bit. He wished he could actually talk about these things; reading messages was not actually like having a conversation.

He frowned when he realized it actually was if John took into consideration the fact that Sherlock could read his reactions very well, he could rely on Sherlock’s ability to read him, he could show him his thoughts!

He made tea for him that night, and before he moved away from placing his cup on the table in front of him, he squeezed his shoulder, hopefully in a ‘ _it’s okay_ ’ way.

John himself was not sure what exactly  **was** okay.

It was all fine after all. 

Sherlock looked at him oddly, a tinge of hurt in his grey eyes. “Are you mocking me?”

The doctor frowned concerned. “I would never.”

“No, of course you wouldn’t,” muttered Sherlock darkly, more to himself than anything. John had the feeling there were things he was never going to know about Sherlock Holmes.

 

~~~~

 

**Message sent 00:28**

_Sometimes I don’t know if you're being daft or you're just trying to be considerate… -SH_

 

John looked at the text with a bit of panic. He knew they would have to talk about him at some point, but while he had realized he felt a bit too much for his supposed ‘best friend,‘ he did not think he wanted the detective to find out.

This time though, he could reply.

 

**Message sent 00:35**

_I don’t think things through enough to be a very considerate person, I'm probably more daft than anything._

 

John could not remember the last time he had talked about himself in such a way. When he was a teenager maybe, his first crush? When he wanted so much for that special girl to understand him. He was hopeless, wasn’t he?

Mostly considering they were texting when they were just in different rooms of the same house. He was trying not to check his phone every two minutes, but it seemed that time had stretched.

 

**Message sent 00:49**

_Do you ever think about me? -SH_

 

The doctor felt his throat go dry. What was he supposed to reply to that? Of course he thought about Sherlock, a bit too much actually. Bloody hell, Sherlock was all he thought about these days.

 

**Message sent 00:49**

_Always. But we live together, it’s normal right?_

 

It was far from normal, but he tried to be as honest as he could without making a fool of himself. He watched his phone frightfully until he received a reply.

 

**Message sent 00:53**

_Disappointing, John. -SH_

 

John jumped up at that, damn Sherlock Holmes and his being all cool and cryptic. **What** was disappointing?

 

**Message sent 00:55**

_You're being quite noisy up there -SH_

 

John stopped, fisting his mobile and unsure what to do, he really felt like a teenager.

 

**Message sent 00:57**

_Did I upset you? -SH_

 

Sherlock was being ridiculous now, but it spoke volumes about what was happening in his head. He had to do something. So he did.

He ran downstairs and almost crashed against the door when he realized how dishevelled Sherlock looked. He was sitting on the sofa, nervous posture, his night shirt open and the buttons mismatched. It looked like he had been overly distracted while preparing for bed. Texting, was he?

It was just… adorable.

Adorable and sexy in a disarming way.

“John,” was the only greeting when he saw him, his eyes avoiding him.

“I'm not upset. Not at all,” he decided to point out, just for the record ~~s~~.

“Good. Excellent,” said Sherlock, nodding, his shoulders were clearly tense.

The pause that stretched between them seemed to be too long to bear.

“Why did you tell me about Irene when I asked you what you thought about me?” he blurted out, because he needed to know. He knew that if Sherlock somehow compared him to the Woman, it meant more than what it seemed.

Sherlock grimaced. “It is inconveniently harder to talk about those things face to face,” he admitted.

“You don’t usually have a problem about being direct,” he pointed out, his arms rigid at his sides. He needed to control himself, he knew.

“Don’t be silly, John. It's a completely different situation. I don't usually have anything to lose.”

The doctor frowned. “Very well,” he muttered with a curt nod. “What do you think you could lose now? Because I'm not turning my back on you… I'd have done so the first day we met if I thought I couldn’t handle it.”

Sherlock was quite shocked by those words, he stared at him for a long moment. “You're right. I'm being silly, am I not? Of course I should trust you… you're by far the most trustworthy person I know.”

John smiled a bit. “I'm glad you think so.” 

A pause, and then finally Sherlock spoke again. “I was just trying to make a point,” he muttered, and so out of context the doctor wasn’t so sure what he was replying to. “That you're very different from her,” he tried to explain further.

John blinked, trying to recall the exact message. It talked about interests fading.

“So your… interest… for me… does not fade? Because we're complete opposites?” he asked, pouting in concentration. 

“I'm not particularly aware of the reasons, that was mere speculation. But the result is quite the same and undeniable,” he answered quickly.

John felt the reply was so detached and cooly delivered that he wasn’t sure they were really talking about what he thought they were talking.

Except the way Sherlock looked at him, that was unmistakable.

How had he not noticed?

“What kind of interest is it, Sherlock?” he inquired. His heart was beating in his ears by then, but he hoped with all his might that he could hear Sherlock say the words.

“You make me think of things that I've never thought about before,” was the confession.

“Does it involve touching?” His voice was breaking.

“Yes, lots of it,” he said with a nod, he looked so lost.

“God,” was John’s breathless reply.

He was shaking when he moved closer, took Sherlock’s hand in his and squeezed it.

The gaze that met his was pained, dark: “Is this pity?”

John shook his head: “Don’t be silly." He weighted his gaze for a long moment, "Just... trust me,” he whispered, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on Sherlock’s lips.

The detective shook with a deep shiver, and he looked up at John with some sort of panic on his features: “It’s been a while, John…”

“For me too…” he said simply, he wasn't going to get shy now.

“I'm… oddly scared…” it was peculiar, the sound of Sherlock's voice without his normal smugness.

John frowned, wondering if he should step back, give Sherlock time to process all this.

As if reading him, Sherlock stood up, placing unsteady hands on his elbows, keeping him there in front of him. “But I do not want you to stop for the world…”

A small smile and he was stretching up to kiss him again, harder, more impulsive than anything else.

Sherlock welcomed him this time, and they fell together like pieces of a puzzle.

They tasted each other, their tongues dancing in continuous exploration.

“W-wait, wait,” muttered John as he pulled away eventually, taking in sharp breaths, his hands on Sherlock’s collar. “I need oxygen…” he said with a giddy smile.

Sherlock laughed. “You should be able to keep your breath for more than 1 minute and 20 seconds, John. Or at least you should breathe from your nose, isn't that common kissing technique?”

John rolled his eyes. "I'm old I guess. Did you actually time the kiss?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I guessed."

"You never guess."

"Unavoidable when I'm too distracted by finally getting what I want."

John had no idea what he had done to deserve such feelings in the detective's heart, but he was damn well keeping his doubts to himself, didn't want to make Sherlock realize what a mistake he had made.

“Felt good…” he panted with a half laugh, he was happy, truly so.

"I definitely underestimated it,” Sherlock agreed.

John leaned up again: "So you imagined something like this?"

The answer to that was a slow nod: "My brain is very active on these matters as well."

"I had no idea I was so much in your thoughts..." He looked up. “Or at all.”

"You should be more confident about your qualities, John." He caressed up the back of his neck, pale fingers tracing his spine. "I never doubted you'd be the one."

John felt his breath fail him, how could someone as cool as Sherlock say something so sweet? He had never thought it was possible. "But you thought it was unrequited?”

“You clearly care for me, and you take people implying things about us remarkably well… but you strike me as someone who would try something if they fancied anyone in particular…” there was a sad smile on his lips. “And you always only asked women out…”

The doctor nodded in understanding. “What we have… is different though… it’s… you know... right?” Because he had no idea how to explain it.

“I know now,” he muttered, cupping his cheek. “And once again you managed to surprise me.”

“I'm full of surprises,” and he meant it, he had not expected anything like this to happen, that was sure.

 

“Be with me then, John, please.”

“Don’t be silly, Sherlock. You don’t have to ask.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Hadrien for her wonderful work betaing this <3


End file.
